Sweet Voodoo

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He had to play with dolls.
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Hypoxia
Hypoxia
927 Followers

Author's note: This tale is fiction, deeply inspired by lululuvsblack in the Story Ideas forum - thanks! All sex is of legal age. The author knows diddly-shit about voodoo but that did not slow me down. Enjoy the story.

***** Sweet Voodoo To You, Too *****

Achebe was a towering figure.

He was big. He was black. He was strong. He was studly. He was very, very smart. And he was pissed off.

Being big, black, strong, studly, and smart were merely his personal heritage. He had no qualms about using his heritage as a tool to advance himself. He had WORKED for his achievements, his social position, his scholarships. He had BUSTED ASS to make his way in the world. He was proud of what he had done. He was a doer.

And he had good reason to pissed off. It was his college dorm-mate, that rich asshole Watkins. As underclassmen at this prestigious private university, they were forced to share a dorm room. As engineering students, they were often in the same classes. But Watkins was eager to show that they were not of the same class, no, not at all.

Achebe was born poor. Not starving-in-the-ghetto poor, not eating-garbage-rats poor, just old-clothes poor and macaroni-and-cheese poor. His ancestors were subsistence farmers. His parents worked hard.

Watkins was born rich. Not Walton-family rich, not oil-magnate rich, but old-banking-family rich. His relatives sat on corporate boards, counted dividends, and played wherever in the world they wanted.

Watkins never hesitated to tell people how rich and superior he and his family were.

"Sure, I had to leave the Maserati behind at our summer house in Genoa. Broke my fucking heart, I tell ya. But I'll get another."

Watkins bought another round of drinks for his friends at the Club Rialto and continued bloviating about fun in Europe and Asia and wherever.

"Or maybe I'll just ask Dad to ship that one over here. And I can get my roomie to keep it clean for me. Colored boys are good for stuff like that, don't you agree?"

This is what pissed-off Achebe. Watkins called him 'boy' in public.

"Oh, boy, is our room clean? You did mop and vacuum, right?"

Achebe could ignore Watkins but he could not rebuke him. Why? Because Achebe's parents worked for a Watkins-owned subsidiary and he could not afford to antagonize the little turd.

Life sucks sometimes.

Watkins played his my-shit-don't-stink games and Achebe gritted his teeth. Moving off-campus at the end of their sophomore year would solve nothing - Watkins would still be his arrogant asshole self whenever he referred to Achebe or any other black, brown, yellow, or less-than-super-rich people.

Things changed on Achebe's birthday.

His birthday presents were never extravagant. His folks had no money for any foolishness. But this one was special.

"Son, this is my mother's diary," his mom's note said, hand-written on a paper scrap. "She wanted you to have it and now it is yours. I only glanced through it but there seems to be much that is meant for you. Now you are a man; you should be able to understand it. Happy birthday, son."

Achebe opened the twine holding shut the butcher-paper-wrapped bundle. Inside was a large leather-bound volume. Leather, or...? He felt it gingerly, stroked it, sniffed it. Could that be... human skin?

Achebe opened the heavy cover. The volume was a fat journal, its unlined pages filled with a spidery scrawl. He looked closely and saw words in English and French and Spanish.

This was not too much a puzzle. He knew his mother's mother was from Hispaniola and often crossed the line between Haiti and the Dominican Republic. He knew his parents knew only English, but he had taken language classes and recognized the patois. He could decipher his grandmother.

His birthday was at the start of a long weekend. The asshole Watkins would not re-appear from his expensive partying before Tuesday. Achebe had no critical classwork to occupy him for a few days. His girlfriend Giana was gone for the weekend too. He set himself to read the strange heavy tome.

And strange it was. Achebe found himself at his laptop googling many phrases and allusions. The further he got, the stranger it was. Were those spells? Curses? Incantations? Prayers? Instructions?

Yes, they were all of the above. Achebe's grandmother had been a voodoo priestess, a very senior priestess, a practitioner of the highest degree. She wrote of her training and adventures, her successes and failures, the discipline and calculations needed to achieve anything in voodoo - a sort of psychochemical engineering.

And she include very specific plans for certain mystical tools.

Achebe was most transfixed by the soul-identity paradigm. As above, so below, sure; that equated everything from atomic to galactic orbits. But also: As the lesser, so the greater. Living souls could be modeled in miniature, could be held in parallel suspension in... dolls.

Yes, voodoo dolls. Dolls that encapsulated their human sources. Dolls that could be used to manipulate those humans.

The procedure was rather straightforward. Make a figure of the target with some bits of the target's self included. Add certain organic compounds - no eye of newt, but something similar. Do this and that and this again, and chant words like a software algorithm, and be sure to check your work.

Achebe was ready to test his knowledge that Monday evening. Watkins would return tomorrow. What would happen if...?

Watkins was a fucking slob. He never cleaned his area of the dorm room's bath. He left plenty of hairs and other debris in the sink and shower. Plenty of hairs... more than enough to be added to a wax-and-dirt figure, a homunuculus, a hand-sized model of the asshole aristocrat.

"What will I do with this honky?" Achebe asked himself.

He had pondered how to treat the moldy fetish. Pins through extremities? A hot blade in the crotch? Packed in ice? Smothered in pennies?

He had a different plan. He shopped the local Dollar Tree store for doll clothes, Ken-and-Barbie-type stuff. He dressed the Watkins figure in a cheap blue suit. Under the trousers: women's knickers. Under the suit shirt: a bra. And onto the figure's butt: a red flashing LED light.

Watkins did not return to the dorm that Tuesday. Achebe read in the local news that his roommate had been gang-raped outside a gay bar in Fire Island.

"Poor bastard," Achebe thought. He thought many other things, too.

---

Achebe thought of other people who left him royally pissed-off. Not because they were merely assholes; the world was full of assholes. No, because they were actively engaged assholes, bent on hurting others. The race-haters and gay-bashers, relay stations of lies and vitriol. Yes, he thought about some he knew and who directed shit at him and his friends. He thought about possibilities.

But he thought of his friends, too.

---

Achebe had his dorm room spic-n-span when his slender girlfriend Giana arrived that night carrying a small sports duffel. She could sleep-over with no worry of a roommate crashing in to disturb them. This would be fun.

Giana Carvalho's heart-shaped Portuguese face broke into a broad smile as she absorbed Achebe's efforts - the soft raga music, the lit candles, the Thai take-out and wine flutes arrayed at the small table, the box of condoms in the middle of the turned-down bed.

She giggled, "For me?" She glowed inside her ruby sundress.

"All for you, baby," Achebe growled. He wrapped his studly arms around her.

Her sneaker-clad feet hovered above the floor for uncountable minutes.

"Dinner's icing over, baby," he said when their mouths parted. "Let's eat."

Achebe had turned the thermostat to a 'comfortable' level. They dined naked.

Dinner was a tangy as their conversation. The wine, a classic Rochioli chardonnay, was creamy and smooth as Giana's skin, but cooler. She yelped when he dribbled a stream onto her small breasts and licked the shining droplets before they could fall from her pen-nibs of nipples.

Achebe filled several condoms over the night, each carefully applied (with her mouth) and removed and tied-off. His covered cock pistoned in her tunnel of love like a limitless machine, ever pounding, ever working.

They showered first thing in the morning, sluicing-off their passionate sweat. Achebe lathered shampoo into Giana's luxuriant dark hair and gave her the most decadent scalp massage. They rinsed, and kissed, and fucked with Giana's legs wrapped around his hips, sliding up and down his ebony cock, and came, and rinsed again, and dried.

Giana tended her freshly cleaned head with the little electric hair drier and soft brush Achebe left in the bathroom. She had an early class; after more embracing and kissing, and finally dressing, she left to grab coffee and a breakfast burrito at the student union.

Achebe harvested her hairs from the brush after she left and worked them into another homunuculus, a female figure. He dressed the figure in Barbie-style clothes such as Giana had been worn.

The figure looked very much like Giana but with larger breasts.

---

Achebe had more friends - and enemies.

Midori was pathologically shy and the butt of cruel jokes from Anglo frat boys. Every prank played upon her only drove her more inward. Achebe watched her drink tea in the student union. She absently bit her fingernails and dropped them into the drained teacup. She left. Achebe harvested the nails for another figurine, one that contained a steel heart.

The next frat boy who bothered her got kicked in the nuts. Yes, it worked!

A loud-mouthed Saudi minor royal fond of demonizing Jews, Europeans, and women, spit into the Styrofoam cup he used as an ashtray. Achebe harvested the spit for another figure with cute underthings and a red LED up its ass. And then, another news report of a gang-butt-rape. Oh dear.

Irvin was another shy guy, a brilliant fellow who had helped Achebe in technical classwork. Irvin was received similar frat-boy pranks as Midori. Irvin ran this finger through his hair and left strands on the lunch table. The harvested strands went into another steel-heart figure. More frat boys got their asses kicked. Imagine that!

Ashley was a female counterpart of Achebe's ex-roomie Watkins, an arrogant rich bitch with a nasty attitude she did not hesitate to share. Like Watkins, Ashley as an actively engaged asshole, using her sorority officer position to discriminate and humiliate girls she saw as her inferiors.

Ashley also left nail clippings in a coffee cup, clippings that found their way into a cursed doll, a doll filled with cinnamon and chili powder and black pepper and certain herbs mentioned in the diary. Ashley developed a sort of fever, a condition that left her sweaty and horny and itchy and scratchy and distracted. And noticed.

"Hey, what happened to Ash?" Jimi ran into Dan at the student union. "She's turned from an ice goddess to the campus slut! I saw her in Randy's van - she must have had the whole men's soccer team lined up there! Including the blacks and Latinos - used to be she'd have nothing to do with anyone who wasn't Ivy League and WASP."

"Funny thing, huh?" Dan shook his shaved head and stirred his chai. "It's like a switch flipped in her, changed her overnight. Fuck, I wouldn't go anywhere near her! Ain't condoms thick enough to protect against whatever she gets." He sipped the sweet milky teas. "More interesting person, yeah."

"And what about Midori?" Jimi sucked his soda. "She's sure opened up. Used to be a scared little girl, never looked anyone in the eye. Now she's running for class president. I didn't know she had a political bone in her."

"I don't know if she's had any bone in her," Dan laughed. "She might be worth trying out. Gotta be careful, though. She knows those karate kicks. You heard what she did to that Delta Chi guy."

Yes, word of the transformations was getting around.

---

Achebe built up quite a collection of voodoo dolls. Enemies with painful additions. Friends with helpful enhancements. A sort of equalization.

He stored the dolls in his dorm-room closet. A closet he kept locked.

He was eventually assigned a new room-mate - Matias, from Buenos Aires, scion of a gaucho family but a hopelessly inept science nerd. Matias wore the stereotypical thick black-framed glasses and slung an actual calculator on his hip.

Achebe grumbled about his new roomie. Now he had less private time with his big-titted girlfriend Giana. (Yes, her boob growth had been spectacular!) But he acknowledged the reality.

Matias was indeed a nerd, but a curious nerd. He was not totally bemused by science. He amused himself with prestidigitation. Slight-of-hand magic tricks - objects disappearing and reappearing in his tricky fingers. Card tricks. Rope tricks. Nerdie magic.

And lock tricks. Matias could unlock almost anything with tumblers.

"¡Hijole! What's all this?"

Matias had only been practicing, merely playing around, when he picked every door lock and cracked every combination in the quarters he now shared with Achebe. He cracked into his roomie's private closet - and found narrow wood shelves filled with small boxes. Inside each box was a roughly-made doll.

Some of the figures were very curious and various. LEDs in the buttocks, metal screws in foreheads, gems or metal trinkets positioned at the heart, paper bands with strange scribbling around the necks.

He tried to read selected scribbles. He did not recognize the dialect but the phrases looked like prayers - or curses.

"Very curious, yes. I wonder what Achebe is up to. Hmmm, I wonder what would happen if I..."

Yes, he played with the dolls. Messed around with them. Changed them. Took bits from some and replaced them on others. Only to experiment, ¿sí? Then he put everything back pretty much the way it had been.

The results were dramatic. A newly-risen class genius became a drooling fool. Matias should not have replaced a gem with a screw in that doll's head. Midori was found hiding in a mop closet - swapping her steel heart for a zinc penny did her no good. The Saudi minor prince and transvestite Watkins did not troll gay bars that night - but a bean up the prince's ass and a screw in Watkins' did nothing to improve their situations. Et cetera.

"Oh fuck," Achebe muttered as he ran to his dorm from the student union. He had seen behaviors there, and heard rumors of others. He quickly surmised the cause. Somebody had mishandled his dolls!

Matias was not in the dorm room when Achebe arrived. His absence saved his life - Achebe cast a mystic trace that ran directly to his roommate's desk. "Gonna kill that fucker," he fumed, and he just might have, had he not cooled off. He focused on repairing the damage. And a little vengeance.

All the trinkets and charms and bands were put back in place. All the spells were re-cast. All the dolls were carefully restored to their pre-experiment conditions. At least Matias had not flattened Giana's chest.

Achebe added another doll to the collection. A doll containing hairs from Matias, and screws in vital places, and cinnamon and chili powder and black pepper and certain herbs, yes, in very careful proportions. A doll dressed in a sleek black tailored Ken-doll suit, and certain jewelry. A doll dosed with certain scents and spirits.

A very different Matias returned to the dorm room early the next morning. No thick horn-rim glasses. No calculator holster. No nerd-packs. The old Mathias was no more.

The new Mathias? His black hair was greased back, shining. His stance was dashing. Gold bling circled his neck and wrists. Lipstick smeared his face. He was a bit drunk, a bit stoned, and immensely high on sex. "¡Dios! What he had been missing! Now he was the epitome of the Latin Lover. Why bother with that science crap? Women of the world, watch out! Here comes Matias!

---

Achebe replaced his closet lock and cast a permanent protective ward over it. Better late than never.

Midori won the class election. Irvin's brilliant researches fast-tracked him for a Nobel prize. Watkins gained fame as a performance star of the international drag-queen circuit. The Saudi prince became an infamous jet-set slut; he could afford the best boys and diplomatic immunity. Ashley and Matias became porn stars in very different realms. He moved into XXX telenovelas while her live-action reality-TV show WHORE! drew more views than the Kardashians.

Achebe proposed marriage to nicely-curved Giana; she accepted. They lived happily ever after, as did many of Achebe's beneficiaries.

Yes, Achebe still plays with dolls. Yes, he is making the world a better place. Sweet voodoo is wonderful stuff, hey?

THE END.

Author's note: This trivial story by Hypoxia is copyright (c) 2015. Many thanks to lululuvsblack. Your constructive comments are welcome. If you like this, join the 1%ers and VOTE!

Hypoxia
Hypoxia
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lululuvsblacklululuvsblackover 6 years ago
I'd forgotten suggesting this story...

...but I enjoyed reading it and being reminded!

Not exactly how I would have taken it. More funny and better written than I could have done, but I'd have put more sex in it. A great read though, lots of fun.

LonnLLonnLalmost 8 years ago

That pleasantly caught me off guard, nice.

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